A Drowned Maiden's Hair (9 page)

Maud felt her fears dissolve. All at once, she knew that the secret that Hyacinth was going to tell was a delightful thing. She had been foolish to feel anxious about it, and still more foolish to try to puzzle it out for herself.

“Perhaps later,” Judith answered. “Let the child settle. She’s off her head with excitement.”

“She missed you.” Victoria’s voice was reproachful. Maud understood that Victoria was speaking on her behalf, but she disapproved. She felt that she would have died before reproaching Hyacinth. “Let her get used to you being home —”

“Burckhardt is coming next week,” Hyacinth pointed out.

“Very well,” conceded Judith. “Tonight. After supper.”

It was a glorious day. Maud helped Hyacinth unpack her trunk, putting away clean garments and relaying soiled ones downstairs to Muffet. To Maud’s dismay, Muffet tried to waylay her whenever she appeared in the kitchen, brandishing a pencil and paper. Maud knew what she wanted; Muffet had developed a passion for nouns. Since the day of Maud’s punishment, she had learned over a hundred, committing to memory the exact shape and order of Maud’s letters. Maud was impressed by her quickness, but she had no time to waste. Hyacinth needed her. She dodged the hired woman, dropped Hyacinth’s laundry in the basket beside the sink, and galloped upstairs to Hyacinth’s bedroom.

In her absence, Hyacinth had unearthed more presents: a child-sized fan painted with poppies, a handful of hair ribbons, and a rock-candy goldfish too pretty to eat. Maud crowed over these and accepted the invitation to try on Hyacinth’s new hat.

“It’s ess-quisite,” breathed Maud as the crown came down over her eyebrows, robbing her of half her vision.

“It’s stylish, isn’t it?” agreed Hyacinth. “Judith does croak so — and over the tiniest sums of money! — but it’s only economical to buy a good hat. You get so much more wear out of them when they’re becoming. How are you doing with
Little Lord Fauntleroy
?”

Maud looked blank.

“I mean,” explained Hyacinth, “do you know it well? Did you really read it?”

“I read it twice,” Maud said pertly. “Didn’t you read my letter?”

Hyacinth clapped her hands together. “Go and get it,” she ordered, “and we’ll read it together. Like a play. You can be Lord Fauntleroy and I’ll be all the other characters.”

Maud stopped halfway to the door. “Shouldn’t you be Lord Fauntleroy?” she said anxiously. “He’s the best part.”

“No, you must be Fauntleroy,” Hyacinth assured her. “I want to hear you be him.”

Maud gave her a look of shining admiration. Not only was Hyacinth willing to play, but Maud was to have the starring role.

“Don’t stand there mooning,” Hyacinth said merrily. “Run and get it. Don’t keep me waiting a second longer, you tiresome girl!”

Maud charged up the stairs.

After so heady and joyful an afternoon, supper was curiously subdued. Victoria and Judith had little to say. As the meal progressed and the evening wore on, the sisters spoke less and less.

Maud was also silent — not because she had nothing to say, but because she had resumed being perfectly good. In fact, she was showing off. Judith had told her that children should not speak at the table unless a grown-up spoke to them. Maud felt that this was as unjust as it was idiotic, but for one night only, she was willing to obey. From time to time, she stole a sideways glance at Hyacinth, checking to see if her good manners were making the proper impression. Hyacinth rewarded her with a smile that made her glow with happiness.

Maud was altogether blissful. For the first time, she was wearing the white muslin dress that was her best, and she was drunk with the glory of so much lace. Hyacinth had tied the bow of her sash and encouraged her to adorn herself with her new glass beads. Maud felt almost too fine to breathe. She sat dagger straight, cut her food into minuscule portions, and ate with impeccable daintiness.

Dessert was blancmange. Maud remembered not to suck her spoon, or even to turn it upside down against her tongue, though this was a very pleasant thing to do and only the most evil-minded adult would consider it rude. She didn’t scrape the bowl; when most of the pudding was gone, she folded her napkin and cupped her hands in her lap. After Muffet had cleared the plates away, Judith turned to Hyacinth. “You wanted to be the one to tell her.”

“Yes,” agreed Hyacinth. She looked at Maud, who gave a little bounce of excitement.

But it seemed that Hyacinth was not quite sure where to begin. Victoria rose and began to draw the curtains. Maud turned to watch. Afterward, it was that moment her eye remembered: the gathering dark outside the glass, the windows reflecting the candle flames and the four females in the room: Hyacinth in silver, Judith in gray, Victoria in dull green, herself in white. The clock in the hall struck seven.

“Maud,” Hyacinth said softly, “what do you think happens when people die?”

This was not what Maud had been expecting, but she answered readily enough. “They go to heaven,” she said primly. “Or they don’t.”

Silence repossessed the room. Hyacinth leaned closer to the candle flames, her eyes searching Maud’s.

“Have you ever heard that there are spirits who come back from the grave in order to speak to the people who loved them?”

“You mean ghosts?” Maud’s gaze strayed to the shadows of the room, checking the places where a ghost might materialize. “Miss Clarke said there was no such thing as ghosts.”

“Not ghosts.” Hyacinth’s face crinkled with amusement. “We never say ‘ghost,’ child. Spirits. Good spirits who come back from the dead.”

Maud shook her head.

“Jesus of Nazareth,” Victoria said unexpectedly. “Jesus Christ rose from the dead.”

Maud gave her a skeptical glance. “Jesus was different.”

“What Victoria means,” Hyacinth explained, “is that part of our Christian faith is the belief that the spirit cannot die. The body dies, but the spirit lives on after death.”

“In heaven,” Maud stipulated.

“Ye-es . . .” agreed Hyacinth, but she drew the word out, as if she didn’t quite agree. “Do you know what spiritualism is, Maud?”

Again, Maud shook her head.

It was Victoria who answered. “Spiritualism is a religion. Spiritualists believe that the spirits of the dead dwell with God. They have been made pure, and they wish to help the living on earth.”

“Victoria is a spiritualist,” commented Judith.

Maud turned interested eyes on Victoria. “Is that why you never go to church?”

Hyacinth’s smile broadened, but Victoria remained serious. “Yes, it is. Spiritualists don’t believe that God is kept inside a church. We believe that He is present all around us, and He has no need of priests or ministers. We believe that all men and women — women, too, mind you — are equal in the sight of God. The Lord speaks directly to every one of us.”

Maud considered this. “I
think
I’m a Catholic,” she said politely, “but spiritualism sounds good, too. I like it that you don’t go to church.”

Hyacinth giggled. “Oh, Maud, you are the most delicious child!” — but Judith shook her head.

“We seem to be wandering from the point,” complained Judith. “She doesn’t have to know everything about spiritualism.”

“I wanted her to know that there was another side —” began Victoria. Her cheeks were flushed with annoyance. This time it was Hyacinth who interrupted.

“You may tell her as much as you like later on. Judith is right. We ought to go on. Maud, do you know what a medium is?”

Maud’s puzzlement increased. “It’s between good and bad,” she answered. “Or hot or cold. It’s halfway between two things.”

“No,” Hyacinth said. “Or rather, yes, that’s one kind of medium, but there is another. In spiritualism, a medium is one who can call up the spirits of the dead.”

“You mean — raise the ghosts?”

“Not ghosts,” Hyacinth said irritably. “For heaven’s sake, child, take that word out of your vocabulary! No, a medium is a person who stands between the living and the dead. The medium can put the living in touch with the spirits.” She paused, waiting for the words to sink in. “And because a great many people miss their loved ones, sometimes they pay a medium a lot of money in order to speak with those who have gone before.”

She let the words trail off. Maud gazed into Hyacinth’s face. The old woman’s eyes were sparkling with mischief and pride. Maud sensed that there was something she was meant to guess. When she realized what it was, her hand shot up, as if she were in school. “I know!” she cried out triumphantly. “You’re a medium!”

Hyacinth nodded demurely. She lowered her lashes, her lips curved like the mouth of a cat. “I have that power, yes,” she acknowledged. “Not always, but sometimes, the spirits speak through me —”

A thought flashed through Maud’s head like a jag of lightning. “Could you find my mother?” she begged. She forgot her manners and knelt up on her chair, straining across the table toward Hyacinth. “Could you make it so I could talk to my mother?”

She was startled by the sound of Victoria’s chair scraping against the floor. Victoria was halfway to the door. “I can’t bear this,” the old woman said in a low, taut voice. “Better to have a millstone around my neck and be cast into the sea —”

“Victoria, be quiet!” Judith commanded. “Come and sit. We have all agreed.” She looked back toward Maud. “You have not been plain with her, Hyacinth. She’s a sharp child, but she’s still a child. You must tell her — truthfully — what we are and what you do.”

“It sounds so coarse,” protested Hyacinth.

“Very well, then, I will say it.” Judith looked directly into Maud’s eyes. “We are frauds, shams, tricksters. Hyacinth can no more raise the dead than I can fly to the moon. There is no way that you could use Hyacinth’s powers to speak to your dead mother. There are no such powers.”

“Judith —”

“Be quiet, Victoria. Let us be plain.” Judith held up her hand for silence. “Victoria believes that there are genuine mediums — but I have never met with one. I never expect to meet one.
We
deal in trickery.”

“Why?” asked Maud.

“Why?” Judith gave a short laugh. “Because there is money in trickery, and we need the money.”

Maud leaned back in her chair. It was true then: the Hawthorne sisters weren’t rich after all. Her eyes went from the silver candlesticks to the gold-framed pictures on the walls.

“This house is mortgaged,” Judith said. “Victoria owns a cottage in Cape Calypso — we could sell that, except that is where we ply our trade. We seldom hold séances here, in Hawthorne Grove.” She sounded scandalized by the very thought. “The Hawthornes have always been respected in Hawthorne Grove.”

“What’s a séance?” asked Maud.

Hyacinth leaned forward, her face crinkling with amusement and excitement. “A séance is like . . . oh, like a very exciting party game. People who want to talk to the dead sit around the table, with the lights very low — the spirits don’t like the light, you see, which is just as well, because we don’t like it, either. It’s so much easier to trick people in the dark. At any rate, once the lights are out, we pray or sing hymns, and after a while, the medium — that is, I — fall into a trance. It looks a bit like fainting, but I can still speak. Then the spirits of the dead talk to the living — using my voice, you understand. Or sometimes, the dead appear.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t do that,” protested Maud.

“We can’t
really
do it,” Hyacinth explained, “but we can manage a very pretty little show. A mask at the end of a fishing pole, for example, is very effective. Remember, it’s quite dark. People see a white face floating in midair, and they’re sure it’s dear old Cousin Lucy. Add a beard and it’s Uncle Matthew.”

“Do people really believe that?” Maud was incredulous.

“My poppet,” said Hyacinth, “you would be amazed at what people believe. You must remember that the lights are low, and they came here wanting, longing — oh,
dying
to see Cousin Lucy or Uncle Matthew. And then, we prepare them, with music and darkness and prayers. . . . Your singing voice will be a godsend — so pure, so childish . . . and I brought you a little glockenspiel — I thought you might learn to play it.”

“Me?”

“Of course, you,” answered Hyacinth. “I knew the minute I saw you that you were just the person to help us. You’re so tiny — you can fit into all sorts of places — under the table, in the map cupboard, even in the dumbwaiter, if need be. I’ll teach you how to play the tambourine and how to make the chandelier swing in the wind when there isn’t any wind —”

Maud’s face broke out into a grin of stupefaction.

“And I’ll teach you to be Caroline.” Hyacinth reached across the table — Maud could have told her that this was bad manners — so that her fingertips brushed the hair by Maud’s earlobe. The caress was so light that it made Maud’s skin prickle. “We’ll need a wig — Caroline had long ringlets. But —”

“Who’s Caroline?” Maud knew that she had encountered the name recently, but she couldn’t remember when.

“Caroline Lambert. The dead child of my very wealthy friend Mrs. Lambert. The drowned child. That’s why I brought you home with me, my darling Maud — so that you could play the part of Caroline Lambert.”